


Believe

by Leninouche



Category: King Arthur: Legend of the Sword (2017), Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: But the fighting is not written out, Enjolras - Freeform, Fighting, Grantaire - Freeform, I am not accustomed to make tags this is a mess, King Arthur AU, Knights - Freeform, Les Amis de L‘ABC, Les Mis - Freeform, Les Miserables - Freeform, M/M, Swords, basically one of the scenes but with Les Amis, combeferre - Freeform, enjolras has a really cool sword, lesamis
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-14
Updated: 2018-01-14
Packaged: 2019-03-04 22:53:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,208
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13374780
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Leninouche/pseuds/Leninouche
Summary: They had to fight.There was no way around it. God, hadn‘t they turned right, had they just continued through the alley they would have emerged at the docks, could have jumped into a boat and-But ‚had‘ did not help them now.King Arthur: The Legend of The Sword AU, that scene where Arthur (in this case Enjolras) uses the sword for the first time.





	Believe

They had to fight. There was no way around it. God, hadn‘t they turned right, had they just continued through the alley they would have emerged at the docks, could have jumped into a boat and- But ‚had‘ did not help them now. Their flight through the town had been messy, every sense of direction lost, only a vague idea of where to run. People got hurt, screams echoed through the air, clouded the senses, the air stood still in their lungs and suddenly they found themselves in this yard, trapped between four-story houses, only one exit available. Which they had come through and blocked immediately, which was now the only thing keeping the guards from slaughtering them. And since the walls were way too high to climb there was only one option left: fight.  
He did not doubt his companion‘s battle- abilities, rather the opposite. But not even they stood a chance when outnumbered so highly. Five guards came on one rebel, their chance of winning was nearly zero.  
A hiss only a centimetre from Enjolras’ ear pulled the blond man out of his dark thoughts. On the roof ahead stood three archers, aiming at him, ready to send another arrow which this time would surely not miss his throat. He prepared to move, take a step, avoid the fatal shaft when suddenly two of the enemies screamed in pain and crumpled down the roof. A second later the remaining figure followed them.  
There was only one person who was skilled enough to aim this accurately from such a distance.  
The moment Enjolras turned towards said person the man in green leather let his bow sink. They exchanged hasty looks for a second then quickly returned to the situation at hand.  
Enjolras knew the sword was their only chance. If he wanted his friends to get out of here alive, he needed its power. What he did not know was if it would work. So far every time he had tried to control the weapon the magic would slip away in the last second, leaving him exhausted and powerless. But today he needed to  
succeed. He could not let his friends die. 

„It is too much of a risk.“

A dark voice echoed near Enjolras‘ ear. Of course Combeferre knew what was going on in the blond‘s brain. He always did.  
Enjolras grabbed his friend‘s arm and led him over to the yard’s far corner. 

„Yes, but also our sole chance of surviving. And I will not let these people get slaughtered just because I was too afraid of using the power given to me.“

Ferre crossed his arms, letting out a long sigh. They both knew there was no way around the sword.

„He should do it.“

Enjolras and Combeferre whirled around only to see Grantaire in his green leather-suit standing there, bow in hand and smirk on his lips. He had always been sceptic towards the sword and it‘s magic and their whole mission and their plans and everything - sometimes Enjolras wondered why that man still remained part of the group at all. Apparently the confusion was clear on the leader‘s face since Grantaire added:

„I don‘t exactly fancy dying today. Also you are the one who always preaches ‚Never stop hoping‘. So far it has worked for you, why shouldn’t it now?“

Enjolras frowned disbelievingly, why would that sceptic use hope as an argument when he himself never believed in it? Before he could utter his suspicions though something hit the door from the outside, sending cracks into the old wood and letting the surrounding walls vibrate slightly.  
Silence.  
Then another blow.

„They are coming.“

Enjolras pulled out his sword, tasting magic and heat as soon as his hand touched the handle. 

„Everyone draw their weapons, hold their arrows in readiness and wait until the door cracks!“

His friends threw reassuring looks towards each other, well aware that this could be their last fight ever.  
The silence between the blows was unbearable. Tension crackled in the air and seeped through their bodies. Hands twitched, boots shifted around.  
Enjolras exhaled a long breath and closed his eyes, concentrated on the leather beneath his hands, the ever hotter metal, the taste of ashes in his mouth.  
Another blow against the door sent a shiver through Enjolras’ body.  
His fingers grew hot, flames seemed to enter his veins, wandering up his arms into his chest.  
So far so good...  
The next blow caused the floor to vibrate and the walls around crumble slightly.  
He reached the crucial point, would the magic grant him access or abandon him again?  
You can do it... let the fire into your heart... No!  
The flame suddenly retreated.  
Of course he would not succeed... of course..  
The leader let out a frustrated breath, gripped the handle harder but still the magic seeped away-  
Suddenly someone touched his arm. 

„Enjolras“

Who was this. He could not open his eyes or else he would loose the flame completely but... he recognized that voice. 

„I believe in you“

Grantaire. 

For a second the world went empty. Then he felt the fire again.  
It was stronger than before, consumed his heart, tore on his skin, he tasted the flames on his tongue. His eyes flew open, no longer blue like the sky but red,yellow, orange, flickering, wild.  
The door burst apart, black figures swarmed into the yard, weapons drawn and ready to kill. Metal screeched against metal, the screams of pain returned.  
Everything sounded distant in Enjolras‘ ears.  
The flame grew wilder, grew bigger, consumed every ounce of his body with storming, tearing fire. It licked up his throat and shot out of his mouth in a deafening roar, tearing through the air.  
He himself became the fire, the storm. Like a whirlwind of destruction he and the sword took the guards one by one, ramming his blade into their bodies, against their shields, leaving a trace of red on the stony floor. There was a humming in his ears, a buzzing, vibrating within his bones, electrifying his skin.  
It happened so quickly, the enemies had no time to react. The slaughter lasted barely thirty seconds. 

Suddenly Enjolras found himself on the opposite side of the yard, facing the wall. As quickly as it came the flame had disappeared and left him empty. Cold. Desolated. The leader‘s right hand slowly dropped until the sword-tip touched the floor with a soft clang. After being so suddenly stripped off the magic‘s infinite power his lungs had to remember how to work by themselves again. The blond turned around, sword screeching against the stone tiles, and examined the result of his outburst.  
Black piles of guards littered the scene, broken swords and shields emerged here and there. And all was red. Running over the floor, dripping onto the tiles. Red and Black.  
Between the corpses stood his friends, staring back at him, shocked, amazed, in awe. 

Enjolras straightened himself and took a big gulp of air. Dark spots blurred his vision and he felt a numbness rising inside of his head.  
Then suddenly the world tipped to the right.  
The last thing he recognized before everything vanished was an arm in green leather, catching him before the impact.


End file.
